


In Need Of Someone

by kelex



Series: Illusions [1]
Category: The Sentinel
Genre: Angst, Drama, First Times, M/M, Pre-Slash, Series
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-10
Updated: 2013-05-10
Packaged: 2017-12-11 07:18:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,912
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/795359
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kelex/pseuds/kelex
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After leaving the loft in emotional turmoil, Jim runs afoul of trouble. without his Guide by his side.</p>
            </blockquote>





	In Need Of Someone

## In Need Of Someone

by Kel

Author's website:   
<http://crystalshard24.tripod.com/sentinelindex.html>

The characters do not belong to me. They belong to Pet Fly Studios. I am making no money from this; I am doing it for sheer love of the characters and my own personal fulfillment.

This is first of a three-story serial.

* * *

"And when you're in need of someone  
My heart won't deny you  
So many seem so lonely 

With no one left to cry to baby..." \--"Don't Cry" (Alt. Lyrics), Guns 'N' Roses, Use Your Illusion 2 

_My eyes are always searching for you. Across the room I seek you out, finding that I can't pull away. Even as you start to speak I hear music in your words and it fills me with joy._

Jim crumpled the sheet of paper he'd been writing on. It had been almost a passing thought to try his hand at writing, and he sucked. He chucked it at the trashcan, almost hitting Blair with it as the Guide walked into the room. 

"Whatever it was, I didn't do it," Blair said, as he picked up the wadded paper. He frowned at Jim's slight scowl. "Jim?" 

"Yeah, Chief?" He caught the ball of paper as Blair threw it at him. He almost stuck it in his pocket, but the jeans were tight and it wouldn't fit. Instead, he nervously tossed it from hand to hand. 

Blair moved closer to Jim, out of the line of the trashcan. "What's bothering you?" He reached out and snagged the wad as Jim passed it from hand to hand. 

"Nothing, just thinking," Jim lied, reaching out to intercept Blair's steal, but the Guide was too quick. 

Blair started tossing the wadded paper from hand to hand. They had played this game before, trying to improve Jim's coordination and hand-eye reaction time. "About what?" Blair asked, trying to interrupt Jim's concentration. 

Jim watched the wadded paper move from hand to hand. "Work, mostly." He tried to remain casual about it, but he wanted that back before Blair decided to uncrumple it and read it. 

With each swat, Jim's hand got closer to the wadded paper. His fingertips brushed against it, and Blair snatched it away. "That's great, Jim! That's the closest you've come yet! A little more practice and your reflexes will be right on a par with your senses!" Blair was bouncing happily and Jim seized the opportunity to grab back his discarded attempt at poetry. 

"Thanks, Chief." 

"Jim, what's on that paper? You've been antsy ever since I came in!" 

_No way do you ever get to see this, Chief,_ Jim vowed to himself. _You are not going to find out... I can't lose you._ "Just some notes," is all he said. 

Blair's face told Jim plainly that the Guide didn't believe a word of it. But he was willing to let it drop. "All right, Jim... maybe it's just me. I did pull an all nighter last night." 

He couldn't even bring himself to say that Blair was right about it being his tiredness--he couldn't even lie to Blair. "Why don't you go and get some rest, Chief?" Jim offered lamely. It was the best he could do, without giving himself away. 

"Maybe I will," Blair said softly. Jim winced inwardly at the hurt tone in Sandburg's usually cheerful voice. "Goodnight, Jim." 

"Night, Chief." Jim felt worse and worse about denying Blair as he watched the other man walk down the hall. _Way to make an ass out of yourself, Ellison._ Disgusted with himself and his treatment of Blair, he dropped onto the couch and turned on the TV, keeping it low in deference to his friend's attempt to sleep. Shortly, though, Jim heard the shower running, and he uncrumpled the sheet of paper and stared at the first two words on the page--and the reason he'd tried so hard to hide the paper--"For Blair." 

He smoothed out the crumpled paper over his leg, and looked at the rest of the poem. Still hearing the shower running, Jim moved quietly down towards Blair's bedroom. He peeked into the bathroom and saw Blair's sleek profile, and swallowed hard. 

He went into Blair's room, and his knees weakened. His Guide's scent was thick and heavy in the air, and Jim filled his lungs with it. He breathed it so deeply he felt his tongue working, trying to taste the scent. It was earthy, and yet exotic, and something unique only to Blair. He leaned against the wall, still distantly hearing the shower running. He could not open his eyes; the smell of Blair was overwhelming. He found his hands crumpling the poem and he forced his legs to work. With trembling hands, he smoothed out the paper again, leaving it on Blair's pillow. Then he fled, slamming the door of the loft behind him. 

* * *

Once he got outside the loft, he took several deep breaths, trying to cleanse Blair's smell out of his system. It wasn't working, and the Guide's scent was almost saturating him. He squeezed his eyes shut, and stumbled out to the parking space where his truck was, and fumbled for the door handle. Sliding behind the wheel, he put his head against it, and shook. The intensity of being in Blair's room, being around so much BLAIR was overwhelming him. 

Slowly Jim got himself under control, and his hands barely shook as he put the key in the ignition and turned the engine over, starting the truck. He sat for a minute and listened to the engine purr, and then slammed the vehicle into gear and laid rubber as he spun out of the drive and into the road. 

Jim drove at top speed as he tried to outrun the image of Blair's sleek, wet body in the shower combined with the still-lingering scent of Blair still heavy in his nose, and he shuddered as his entire body responded to that combination. It was getting dark, and Jim reached down to flick on the headlights. As he drove around aimlessly, he checked out the clock. 6:15. _Damn. He won't be going to bed for another three or four hours,_ Jim thought to himself. He wasn't sure he could face Blair after having left that poem for him on the pillow. In fact, he wasn't sure if he could face Blair ever again. _He's going to think that you're some old queer out for a young piece of ass,_ Jim berated himself. _He's never going to believe you're in love with him._ He looked again at the clock. 6:18. _You've been out of the house a grand total of eighteen minutes and already you're mooning over Blair Sandburg... you have got it bad, Jimmy boy._ Ellison continued his silent tirade against himself. _You can't get the picture of him naked out of your head, and you almost came standing in the middle of his room breathing in his scent! You are a pervert, Ellison. You and I both know that Sandburg deserves a hell of a lot better than an old horse like you._ At that thought, Jim's fist pounded the steering wheel, denting the hard plastic and causing the horn to blow in the middle of traffic. Fortunately, the car in front of him had been missing the green light, and other horns joined his in blowing and he got out of the intersection in a hurry. 

By a quarter of seven, Jim had detoured himself halfway around town, deliberately avoiding the places that Blair liked to go or the places they went together. He'd skipped the library, the station, the drive by the park, and had detoured six blocks over to avoid the bookstore where he'd bought Blair's last welcome home present--a leather-bound first edition of one of the Guide's favorite poetry volumes. He'd also taken a three-block detour to avoid Blair's university. 

At seven-fifteen, Jim was back at the loft, staring at Blair's profile in the window. The Guide was sitting there, his posture rigid as though he were ready to jump to his feet at any moment. He looked at the cell phone on the seat beside him, and he picked it up. Pausing only a moment, he dialed the loft's phone number. Blair's voice answered almost instantly. "Jim?" 

Jim closed his eyes, luxuriating in the sound of his voice. 

"Jim, is that you?" Blair's voice sounded strained, worried. The Sentinel sighed and broke the connection, once again pulling away from the loft and driving around in circles. 

_Why didn't you at least tell him you were all right?_ he demanded of himself. _You aren't deaf, not with those ears, you heard how damned worried he was about you._

He put his hand over the telephone again, but before he could dial it, it was ringing. He looked at the display; the loft. He knew it would be Blair, but couldn't bear to hear that delicious voice whispering in his ear again. 

He looked at the clock. 7:45. Still the phone was ringing. Morbidly, Jim counted the rings. It stopped after fifty. He looked at the clock again; 7:55. Ten lousy minutes. _Jesus, time is creeping by._

The next time his phone rang, he didn't even bother to check to see if it were Blair. He knew it was. The third time it started ringing, he picked it up and saw the loft's number again, and turned the ringer off. _Out of hearing, out of mind?_ The snide voice in his head started to sound a lot like Sandburg's. _You can't deny it, Jim... you're in love with that kid, and you're scared... the big strong Sentinel is afraid of his Guide because he doesn't want to get his heart broken._

After about another half-hour, Jim gave up. _You can't hide from him forever, Ellison, he lives with you! Go home and get it over with._

Jim sighed and started on the way home, but he still took detours and one of the detours he took lead him by the museum, where he still smiled at the big display that was currently on tour. Not that it was anything he hadn't seen before. Inca artifacts on display for the public. He almost passed the museum until he caught sight of flashlights sweeping the interior glass doors. Pulling over to the curb, he picked up the radio and called into the station. "This is Ellison, over on McCarthy Street... I'm parked outside the museum and there seems to be some sort of activity inside, and the museum's been closed; send me a unit for backup but I'm going in to investigate." 

"Roger that, backup is on the way." Then Simon's voice crackled through. 

"Ellison, what the hell are you doing? I'm trying to go home here, and you're playing the hero! At least Sandburg's with you to keep you from going alone." 

"Uh, Sandburg's not here, sir, he's back at the loft." The sound of muffled cursing came over the radio. "Sir, those flashlights are on the move, just make sure the backup gets over here." Jim put the CB back on the dash and slipped out of the seat, reaching under it and pulling out his gun. He stayed in the shadows of the museum's overhang until he got to the door and looked in. 

There were faint lights from some of the bigger display cases and Jim could count five men in black moving around the new exhibit. He tried the front door and found it already jimmied open, but as he pushed it in, he heard the hinges squeak quietly, and he let the door go, easing it back shut before he was caught. He ran back down to the truck, and went through the toolbox in the back, pulling out a small can of WD-40, and sprayed all three hinges of the door, and then pushed it in soundlessly as he entered, staying out of the sweeping beams of the flashlights. 

He listened closely to the echoing footsteps, gauging how far away from him they were. He looked up, and he was not that surprised to find that they were in the hallway leading towards the Peruvian exhibit. _Strange how that place always comes back to haunt you, Ellison._

Jim continued quietly into the museum, stopping only when he heard shallow breathing. He looked down, and he was a couple of feet away from the fallen form of one of the museum's security guards. He rolled the man over to look for bullets and instead found a feather-tipped dart in his neck. He left the dart in place, and checked the heartbeat. Steady. He hoped the backup would be here soon, but the guard would be all right until they did. He carefully stepped over the man's body, and into the exhibit hall. 

As soon as he crossed through the threshold, greenery from the overhanging trees and transplanted vines shrouded him, and he closed his eyes, forcing himself to get a grip on himself. _You are not in Peru, Jim, you're in the middle of the museum tracking down the bad guys,_ he reminded himself, and yet it took a few minutes to bring himself back to Cascade out of those lush green jungle memories. 

As he shook his head clear, he caught the end snatches of a conversation. 

//I still don't know why we can't use guns.// The speaker's voice had a very heavy Colombian accent. 

//Because the powder and sparks could damage some of the pieces,// explained another heavily accented voice. //The boss doesn't want any of his exhibits damaged.// 

_That explains the darts,_ Jim thought to himself. He could clearly hear the men ahead, rustling in the faux-jungle terrain that he was used to. Here he had the advantage, and he used it. Something shifted gears in Jim's head, and he was barely aware of moving silently through the jungle to come up behind his prey. 

His quarry was right in front of him. Five dirty men; three that smelled like stale smoke, one that stank of alcohol, and one of heavy cologne. The hunter moved silently through the dense green tangle and stalked closer to his prey. Their guns were safely holstered, and the dart guns were nowhere to be seen. Closer the hunter came to the men, and still they did not move. Only at the last second, when Jim burst out onto them, splitting them up and sending them in different directions did they scatter. The one closest to Jim was the drunk, and Jim pursued him, overtaking him near one of the ancient trees and downing him. He trussed the thief up with vines from the tree, completely forgetting about the handcuffs that rested on his hip. Turning, he sniffed for the next scent and found the overpowering smell of the second thief's cologne. He followed that scent as well, and in seconds had the prey overpowered and taken care of. 

It was the three smokers that posed a problem to the hunter, but he didn't notice. So intent was he on following the odor of the smoke that he did not realize that two were in front of him, and a third behind him. He heard the footsteps behind him and turned, but not in time to duck away from the dart that was coming at him. He felt it prick his neck and he pulled it out, tossing it onto the ground and pulling his gun on the man who'd shot him. The man raised his own gun while the two from behind tried to rush Jim, but the hunter swayed and one tripped while the other pulled himself short. He barely managed to duck the spray of gunfire from the third before shooting him in the chest. The last two lay quiet, and as Jim moved to tie them up as well, and he felt a second prick in his neck as a second dart hit him. He pulled that one out as well, and his vision blurred as the double does of sedative began to work on him. The switch that had flipped in him earlier flipped again, and he looked around with blurry eyes, unable to remember what he'd done or why he was back in the jungle. Putting his hand to his dizzy head, Jim staggered through the archway, and out into the front portion of the museum. 

Instantly, spotlights from the squad car sitting in front of the door blinded him, and as soon as one officer recognized him, he sent the other in while he went to Jim's aid. 

The officer's mouth was moving, but Jim could not make out what he was saying. The words were slow and drawn out, and Jim's own body couldn't or wouldn't move. His eyes rolled back into his head, and he fell hard, convulsing on the asphalt sidewalk. 

The last call that Jim could consciously remember hearing is "Oh shit, call it in... we've got an officer down." After that, he passed out, his last thought cut off in midstream... _Blair..._

End (TBC in "Everybody Needs Somebody) 

* * *

End In Need Of Someone by Kel: dragonbane4@aol.com

Author and story notes above.

  
Disclaimer: _The Sentinel_ is owned etc. by Pet Fly, Inc. These pages and the stories on them are not meant to infringe on, nor are they endorsed by, Pet Fly, Inc. and Paramount. 


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